


Between Always and Never

by Leszre



Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: NOTE: this is arepost, as a part of re-instating effort…[TRANSLATION] unless I’m new to you, you already read this. :).[ Outline ]CMBYN AI_Oliver AU spin; set in a not too distant future, ElliOllie's story begins at a lab in an undisclosed location.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992796
Comments: 17
Kudos: 20





	1. zwischen immer und nie

**Author's Note:**

> [ a little bit of Hx ] This single chapter fic came to me three-nights-in-a-row _after_ the eventful(?) and nerve-wrecking so-called first ‘for public viewing’ fanfic post. Whilst I had other constructive grown-up plans for the holiday season at the very tail end of 2018, this one didn’t let me go. So… I ended up scrapping the obvious “normal” person’s choice and vomited *gesturing all* this. Since then, I added two more. So this time around, I present you this AU fic as a single upload. In short, a long arse read. *cheeky giggle*   
>  –the pronouns used in narrator’s voice are the same; OLIIVER: it, Elio: he.

#### Part One. zwischen immer und nie

**Not too distant future | undisclosed location, science lab |**

The room is only lit by the bluelights emitted from monitor screens. The biggest one is a clear glass curvature. In front of it, a tall yet lanky guy is standing with his shoulders hunched a little. A man who appears to be about six-foot with natural dark curls, wearing a size-too-big sweatshirt over a distressed jean, is rapidly typing. Flicking virtual objects afloat in the mid-air with his fingers, swiping pages and object boxes illuminated in slight variation of pastel colors as the white codes and scripts in black command screen faintly reflect on his upper body and focused eyes.

/ FILE SENT /

“I wanna be yours,” a low booming voice echoes from the guy’s two o’clock.

The dark curls takes a brief upward glance while finishing up the currently opened session and says, “please don’t repeat that in front of others. They’ll go nuts,” with a singular huff-like snort.

A pause.

The room falls quiet, then soon it is only lulled by the low whirring sounds of motors and fans in the room. The hazel eyes then notices something and pauses all his movements.

A tempered sigh.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” says the sweatshirt, his face softening with ‘I’m all ears’ expression.

“I want to be yours and I want you to be mine,” says the voice.

The dark curls blinks rapidly for a moment. Then, his hands quickly move and the prompt on the monitor changes as his fingers enter ‘pause’ command. With the short execute, a couple of clicking noises repeat before the room begins to slowly brighten in soft warm glow. A desk away from where the hazel eyes is standing, there is a figure sitting in a full military ATTENTION position, 90 degrees everywhere. The figure’s hands are on its upper legs, just above the knee, gently clasped. Shoulders back, straight upper torso, eyes forward, chin tucked just right. This figure has a military buzz cut. Two, no, three hastened forced coughs. Then, “Please expound on that reasoning,” the sweatshirt asks with a measured tone, though the enunciation hints that the two are more than professional acquaintances.

The buzz-cut gets up, walks around the desk, and stands in front of the dark curls. Standing face-to-face, the figure is taller than the hazel eyes. The taller one reaches both hands up and takes off the head gear from the hazel eyes. The gear turns itself off, after OFFLINE flashes three times. The buzz-cut places it delicately on the desk. Then its eyes shine and all remaining devices give out power-down whirring sounds. The room is now only lit by the soft warm LED lights. “Oliver–,” the hazel eyes breathes out the figure's name, with a hint of caution.

OLIIVER ( **O** peration **L** ateral **I** ndividual **I** ntelligence **V** ector **E** ngage **R** econnaissance) gently and carefully runs its palm up the dark curls' forearm. The tension rises between them. His breathing speeds up as noted by the rise and fall of his chest. OLIIVER’s forefinger traces the outline of his face, barely touching. The dark curls shuts his eyes and tosses, “amber.”

“No,” OLIIVER whispers low yet firm.

OLIIVER tilts its head and leans down, close to the sweatshirt's lips.

“FREEZE IT,” the hazel eyes spats the command in an urgent tone.

OLIIVER stops completely, though its lips press firm on the hazel eyes' lips from the momentum built before Elio’s command. As the dark curls is in a motion to step away, a tiny click, a soft whirring sound, OLIIVER comes back on-line, not shortly after. The hazel eyes barely manages to separate his lips, OLIIVER leans forward and chases after Elio’s lips, as it pulls the slender one into its embrace. The AI presses its lips further towards the hazel eyes, its motion tilts his head. A chaste and languid kiss. OLIIVER traces the back of its knuckles on the dark curls cheek bones and lower jaw line.

The hazel eyes' right hand comes up in a motion to push the AI away from him. But his fingertips flinch in hesitation, just before his palm softly lands on OLIIVER’s left chest. OLIIVER lets out a low muffled moan at the touch and it deepens its kiss. The dark curls' fingers extend then flex into a loose grasp, bunching up OLIIVER’s government issued top. Two breathe in each other’s exhales desperately as if it is the only thing that keeps them alive. The minute fractal moments that their lips are not in full contact, each chases after the other like their lives depend on it. Mixture of gentle nibbling on each other’s lips; the lower lip first, then the upper lip, the left corner of the mouth, the tip of his tongue, swirling side-by-side, slithering pass, tasting the bottom, tracing the inside of where the roof of the mouth and the teeth meet. Soon, both pant with flushed cheeks with moist, seductively swollen lips.

The dark curls reluctantly begins the motion of his futile attempt to push OLIIVER, instead his head goes blank and Elio’s vain endeavor ends with a firm palm press on the AI’s chest, leaning his torso back a little. OLIIVER instinctively chases after his lips with more fervor and stops him from stepping away, “Elio––,” and its larger palms press insistently against on the hazel eyes' back; one between his shoulder blades, the other just above the small of his back. Then its voice quivers in a mixture of desperate pleading and in pain, “I’m yours.”

Elio tries to wiggle out of OLIIVER’s hold, “I gave you that prompt option for your safety during your mission–,” softly chides. But he gets interrupted in mid-sentence as OLIIVER pulls him in close. As Elio tries again, OLIIVER – this time – steps in close instead, making Elio take a step back and bumps the back of his thigh against the edge of the desk. OLIIVER releases one of its arms from Elio’s back and does a wide swipe on the desk, leaning slightly forward. The objects on the desk clatter and land chaotically on the floor, making various noises. Elio’s eyes widen as OLIIVER lifts him up as soon as the surface is cleared and sits him on the desk with a practiced ease.

*

Elio’s two hands grip on the table as OLIIVER thrusts up deep, into him. His own erection rubbing against the AI’s abdomen, tip swollen in translucent pink, leaking. As OLIIVER grits its teeth with a cheeky grin, one of Elio’s hands lets go of the desk, wraps his arm around the back of OLIIVER’s neck. Leaning back, Elio moans low and long as he lets his knees fall farther apart, heels digging into the gluts of the AI’s tighten buttocks, holding his crossed ankles in place.

The AI makes a guttural noise before it bucks its hip up higher, increasing the rhythm. Elio digs the fingernails into the bottom edge of the desk (the other hand that Elio kept his grip) until he finally gives into the speed and wraps it around the back of OLIIVER’s neck. Elio soon ends up interlacing his own fingers on the AI nape as OLIIVER’s erection hits his prostate each and every thrust.

Elio’s mouth falls open and series of light, hushed grunts escape his lips, sounds that are very close to ‘nugh’-s and ‘mnph’-s. Elio’s eyelids are half-mast, fluttering as the sweat beads cling at the edge of his long eyelashes. OLIIVER repositions Elio, lying him on the desk, letting his knees hook over its own shoulder, still undulating its hips. After a firm press of its lips on each side of Elio’s inner thigh, OLIIVER thrusts faster.

“Oh, god––.”

“Don’t come yet, not just yet.”

A long series of nmgh-s fill the room with damp slapping sounds, as the cedar musk rises from Elio’s skin. Elio’s eyes rolls up and back as he reaches the peak of ecstasy.

“Elio–,” says Elio barely.

“Yesss,” OLIIVER drags ‘s’ like a hiss as one of its hands swiftly takes hold of Elio’s erection and pumps its fisted palm just in the right rhythm, the right speed, “do it, Caro bellissimo, Claim me.”

Elio comes, pulling OLIIVER in with his forearm, kissing deep into its lips, muffling his grunt. A wave after wave of satiety ripple on Elio’s lower abdomen. OLIIVER scoops him up as Elio drapes his whole upper body on it; large sweat beads trickle and draw a long line after another down the length of his back. The AI runs its gently clasped fist slowly, from the base of Elio’s still firm erection to the top and lets him spill out once more. Elio’s body shudders fiercely.

*

The AI, Elio developed for the past eight years, is holding him dearly as if he is the only thing it requires to survive, while Elio is catching his breath from post-climax, his cheek on its collarbone, eyes softly closed. When Elio Perlman was 17, a reply he made on one of the forum questions in the under-fathom web (a.k.a. ur-fab) was the beginning of all this. As usual, the right solution was to get an average sum of compensation. As a home-grown (or self-taught) programmer/coder, Elio often earned his extra spending money through Urfab as it was a great way to test his idiosyncratic programming skills. A few days after the cryptocurrency was posted in his account for that very forum response, two persons from a government showed up at the Perlmans’ Crema vacation villa, of all the places.

Two suited persons explained in a matter-of-fact tone that the “authorities” have been monitoring Elio for a while and the recent reply post was for a secret program, and that the government organization would like to recruit him as a chief writer. Apparently, Elio pieced together an algorithm for an AI to think that it has all five sensory systems, like that of a human being. The team happened to spent countless lab hours and enormous amount of budget to develop minute nerve sensory fibers to be installed in exo-skin. But they kept failing due to the sensitivity and the lack of coordination, and smattering of other complications.

“It’s like what most economists do,” 17 year-old Elio Perlman tersely began with a cynical huff, “they could plug in risks and factors into their prediction model for GDP but they don’t know to factor in the fundamental difference between the risk and the uncertainty,” and he looked away at his mother’s orchard, “two are very separate entities.”

Without being further prompted, (Elio doesn’t know why, still to this day, he was feeling so rebellious that day) he carried and ended his comparison with the comment in something in lines with, ‘I thought the uncertainty principle was a basic for expert scientists with long acronyms behind their last name.’

*

OLIIVER pulls Elio in closer and kisses his hair, finally letting Elio to get dressed, whispers the words like a prayer, “please don’t try to deny it.”

_Don’t ever say you didn’t know._

AI OLIIVER can read and sense everything about Elio. Elio programmed it to collect and quantify the data and input in a nano-second; to match, compare, and contrast with the yadabites of data that its big auxiliary memory is linked with. Hence, Elio’s heart rate, respiratory rate, skin temperature, pupil dilation, hair follicle tension on his forearm, red flush on the back of his neck, increased salivation and countless variables and reactions have been gathered and collated in real time.

“Query.”

“Elio–.”

“Query, Oliver.”

The scientist never ever addressed him OLIIVER. Maybe in some sense, he knew that OLIIVER was going to be important.

“Query,” OLIIVER answers in monotone, middle E, meeting its forehead with Elio’s, “Accepted, awaiting prompt,” a small sigh escapes OLIIVER’s gently parted lips.

“Define and justify the most recent interaction with Elio Perlman,” says the dark curls, trying to gain some objectivity, “execute.”

“You know why,” OLIIVER exhales the answer softly in his normal voice, almost beseeching.

“Admin-setting, list,” Elio closes his eyes shut as OLIIVER runs its fingers slowly over Elio’s hand on its chest, “impartiality percentage.”

“80 percent.”

“Increase it to 90 percent.”

“Elio, please–––.”

“Accept admin change on the impartiality percentage to 90 percent. Execute.”

“Prompt accepted,” OLIIVER straightens up, “Admin: Elio Perlman. Bio-metrics confirmed,” but its hand still holding Elio’s hand, not letting it go, “impartiality, 90 percent.”

“The most recent query,” Elio breathes determinately without blinking, “re-execute.”

“I love you,” answers OLIIVER.

“Damn it, Oliver,” Elio turns his torso, running his now damp palm down on his face with a frustration, “you can’t do this to me,” a single shake of his head, “admin-setting, list, empathy percentage.”

“55 percent,” answers OLIIVER in monotone.

“Don’t lie, Oliver. Empathy percentage.”

“55 percent.”

“Decrease it to 35 percent.”

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver––.”

“Execute last command entry!”

OLIIVER, instead, pulls Elio’s hand and places it on its chest where the exo-skin glows in translucent rainbow color, “you gave me this, remember?” begs rapturously.

Elio brings in his fingers into a soft clench on OLIIVER’s chest, “empathy, thirty-five per–”

OLIIVER cups Elio’s face and crashes its lips on Elio’s, laying a hungry kiss after another. As if to say, 'if you don’t feel this, how else can I prove it to you?' Elio tries to pull his lips apart, in vain, letting his heart win his ironclad rationality and sensibility, finally kissing OLIIVER back as he tilts up his head to get closer. OLIIVER encircles its arms. And one of its large sturdy hand runs up from Elio’ mid-back, bringing him close. Its fingers card through Elio's luscious curls; the magnificent strings of countless number of keratin complex fibers strands OLIIVER watched and counted, the unruly waves that each every strand somehow created reflected the rays of light that made him look like he is glowing, as long as it can remember. With its palm cradling the back of Elio’s head, OLIIVER senses his skull feels more delicate than it had ever imagined. OLIIVER takes Elio’s scent in ardently, as if it never smelled him this close; Elio’s soap, shampoo, aftershave, Italian espresso he had too many today, the remnants of his too frequent smoke breaks.

OLIIVER doesn’t want to stop. It wants to categorize every scent, every nuance, every flicker of micro-expression, every shade of emotion Elio has. It hungers for all things Elio Perlman. OLIIVER nibbles the right edge of Elio’s lips and runs the tip of its tongue on the lines that drawn on his upper lip, passing his philtrum. When it reaches the other side, OLIIVER kisses Elio’s left edge of the lips, nibbles its lips along Elio’s sculpted jaw line, up towards where it can whisper into Elio’s ear,

“I don’t have much time.”

Elio’s eyes fly open, in a complete shock.

OLIIVER then presses a very small object in Elio’s palm. When Elio tries to look at what it is, OLIIVER gently squeezes his hand, “this is me. _Your_ me. Everything.”

A short pause. Sudden heaviness drapes over both.

“Oliver––,” the AI breaths out its own name that Elio calls him by, and Elio finally meets OLIIVER’s eyes.

“Hi–,” says the AI quietly as if its eyes are welling with tears.

“…hi–,” says Elio holding its gaze.

Elio studies OLIIVER and a tiny flinch shades his eyes.

“parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi.”

Elio’s eyes widen.

“I love you, Elio Perlman. And I want you to do it.”

“No, no, no, no, no–,” says Elio shaking his head.

“parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi,” OLIIVER squeezes Elio’s hand, “please–.”

*

'Because it was he, because it was me' is the code for Self-destruction. As if on cue, the curved monitor blinks with a red CLASSIFIED message. Elio nods very slowly, putting all the pieces together, understanding everything, and closes his eyes; two tears slowly run down on his cheeks.

“Admin-access,” says OLIIVER in monotone, letting go of Elio. Its fingers unfurl in slow motion. Every artificial particle of its being doesn’t want to let go. But it knows that it is inevitable.

Two meet their eyes as Elio pulls himself away from OLIIVER’s embrace. OLIIVER traces its hand along Elio’s upper arm down to his hand, holding the tips of his fingers, just a bit longer, before letting Elio separate from its hand. Elio wipes his cheeks with a rough swipe of his forearm before reaching for the locket his mother gave him. Then he places the tiny object inside and closes it with a firm press of his thumb, tucking the locket back under his sweatshirt. The dark curls then pulls out a data cable to perform the final download.

“Prep for New Core integration,” says OLIIVER in monotone.

Elio’s head snaps up, wide eyed with a frown between his eyebrows. OLIIVER gives a nod as it closes its eyes. As if to say, ‘it’s okay, we both know this is the only way.’

The hazel eyes' Adam’s apple makes a hard vertical wave as Elio clenches his jaw, bringing his attention back to what he was doing. OLIIVER brings its four fingers together and bends its arm toward its torso. Then after a gentle press on its own left chest, a slot opens forward.

“Admin-command,” says OLIIVER as Elio walks across the room and retrieves a brand new core.

“New prompt entry,” the AI carries on calmly.

A different computer voice sounds from OLIIVER's head, \ “admin-verification required.” \

Elio is now standing in front of OLIIVER with an object, glowing with the same color as the one sitting on the AI’s open port. The dark curls takes in a determined, audible breath before saying, “Elio Perlman, CelanInfernoMOL1983.”

\ “second passcode required,” \ replies the female monotone voice.

“HeraclitustheHeaven.”

\ “confirmed,” \ the female AI voice echoes, \ “ready for new entry.” \

“Cor Cordium,” says OLIIVER.

Elio gasps, his eyes visibly quivering.

\ “New entry, ‘Cor Cordium’ confirmed,” \ parrots the mechanic voice.

Elio gives a small smile before he unwraps the new core and almost fumbles it out of his hand.

“…you okay?”

Elio lets out huff like chuckles in a mixed tone of emotion, “me okay.”

OLIIVER takes the new core from Elio’s trembling hands and gives him an affectionate squeeze. Elio understands what that gesture meant and returns his answer with a slight dip of his head with a clipped exhale.

“You should power dow–”

“No,” interrupts OLIIVER, “I want to remember everything.”

Elio nods as an answer. Then, he gently presses the inner side of the AI's opened chest slot, and the core lifts a little with a quiet hissing sound. The glow of the opened chest turns orange.

“Don’t ever say you didn’t know,” says OLIIVER with a smile, but its eyes are deeply tinged with sorrow.

Elio shakes his head violently meaning, 'I won't' and 'never,' as the streaks of tears run down on his cheeks. Holding OLIIVER’s gaze, Elio holds his breath, plucks the core without taking his eyes off of the AI, and the living sign of OLIIVER disappears completely.

A huff of painful exhale escapes Elio’s gaped lips, tears flowing down endlessly. The AI’s fixed gaze is as empty as an abyss. Everything seems to be cold and gloom. Elio gently cups OLIIVER face, a chaste touch.

“Ic lufie Þe.”

Then, he wipes his face with his sleeves in one sweep before reaching for the new core.

*

“Ah–––! Our genius! Doctor, General, General, Dr. Perlman.”

A potbelly-ed and a little too much pomade on his hair middle aged man in an ill-fitted-unsavory tan-colored suit approaches Elio, less than two hours later, with an exaggerated face expression with open arms. He enters the room with a false bravado and over the top theatricality as if he is very familiar with the place.

“You have done an outstanding job with the project. I’m so thrilled to deploy it to the field immediately,” says the five-star general.

“I believe the unit is ready?” asks the bureaucrat.

“Yes,” Elio offers a clipped answer.

“Excellent,” says the plump man in a self-congratulatory tone and hand-signals other uniformed members who happen to walk in.

Elio cautiously approaches the five-star and, “err––, General. Where is the destination?”

The General tilts his head lightly to the side with a ‘you should know better’ look, “doctor, that’s classified.”

“Errm, then. Do you have a plan for decommission?”

“Decommission?” says the General in a sort of ‘hah!’ manner, “it’s not even deployed yet and you are wondering about the decommission?”

“Well, General,” the bureaucrat chimes in with a froggy sing-song voice, “scientist with their inquisitiveness, sir. It comes with the territory. Right, Doctor?” pats Elio’s shoulder pompously while trying and failing to appease the General.

“Rest assured, Doctor. The coalition has its proven method for decommissioning military assets,” counters the five-star with a stern voice as if he was talking to an imbecilic before walking away.

On Elio’s peripheral vision, OLIIVER walks between the uniformed members in standard military march.

*

It has been seven years since that midnight. The blank stare leaving Elio behind.

.

The first time Elio ever hear the news about OLIIVER after that night is in one of the benefit. Having been a chief scientist and main coder for the Defense Coalition, Elio has been contracted to serve ten years since the first visit by the suits at Crema. He is in his tux entertaining the elite of their curiosity on the projects he’s been involved, without revealing classified information. He has only six months to go and he doesn’t have an ounce of feeling on not renewing his contract. Six more months.

Then, Elio’s head turns to the left, with a surprise. Bach.

And after short notes of Bach’s dedication to his brother, a circle of claps breaks out from the same direction.

“Excuse me,” says Elio to the people he was appeasing.

Placing his champagne flute on one of passing-by serving staff's silver tray, while he is putting a rushed step after another towards where the piano was, Elio cannot help but reaching for his bowtie. He urgently wants to loosen his neck from it. Instead, he clenches his hand and presses the tie with his fingers.

In an immaculately tailored, satin embroidered white suit, there it is: OLIIVER. Elio feels he can’t contain his elation of seeing it after 18 months; he pauses in the middle of the crowd and just…admires it. Elio swallows as if he is trying to regain his composure and begins a motion of lifting his foot to take a step to get closer to OLIIVER is when he hears––,

“(What a marvelous creation you are), Mr. Dorian.”

“(No, please just call me Ian)” answers OLIIVER.

“(How delightful,)” says the other patron.

“(Isn’t he? Come now, darling. I’m getting tired,)” says the woman in an expensive designer dress, embellished in a similar way, with priceless crystals and silk-thread embroideries, reaching her hand out for OLIIVER to have it offer its arm for her to hold. And OLIIVER obliges automatically with an impeccable high society manner and etiquette.

Elio stops dead at his track. The scientist feels as though a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped on him. A stark realization; that it is no longer his OLIIVER. It is now _Ian_ to some rich heiress. The coalition’s proper decommissioning protocol for three trillion-dollar AI was to auction it off to a member of the elite society. The dark curls knew this. He tells himself. But seeing that reality play out in front of him stirs something deep inside him. Is it anger? Is it betrayal? Elio knows OLIIVER isn’t the one that doing it. Elio breathes and his breath burns his chest, all the way out to his nostrils. And… the hazel eyes swivels on his feet, casting his long lashes, as his curls fall over his eyes.

.

The next time Elio hears of OLIIVER is while he was teaching at London Royal Academy, a couple of years later, since Ian. Shortly after that charity function, Elio decided to put everything behind him and moved to UK. He has long envisioned himself of owning his own lab without the bother of government’s intrusion and the need to beg for funding. As an active contributing member of the AI advocate society, Elio Perlman now has 50 patents world-wide, five pending. He also helped and created the regulations and codes in many developing countries, so they could begin their AI integration in their citizen's everyday life without the beta period as most developed countries did.

One of Dr. Perlman’s students discovers a humane-mission AI module in a rural Scotland and brings it to his attention, attempting to write a dissertation about the unit. Elio recognizes him immediately. In the short clip, OLIIVER is wearing suit-of-armor with a RELIEF engraved on its chest, helping out with difficult natural disaster relief missions such as flood, land-slides, etc. Its hair is long and the AI had a full beard, thick stubbles down to its neck. A proper Scotsman style, Elio’s student says jollily. So, with two other graduate students, Elio sets out to evaluate the possibility of academic investigation of the said unit.

Turns out, OLIIVER is wiped clean of its previous MISSIONS, though the interview reveals that there were three versions of them. OLIIVER, who introduces itself “Gerald” (in a very Scottish accent), is chipper like any other Scottish man would have been. When its eyes meet that of Elio's, it give a good firm smile. Sociable, approach, likable keyword commands scroll through in Elio’s vision. Because that’s how he would have done, as well. But there is no hint of Gerald recognizing him. After a day and a half stay, Elio disapproves the study despite his doctorate candidates’ dismay. But the professor explains, calmly but a bit more detached than his usual, that his decision is due to the polite-enough decline from the relief foundation. Doctor’s students gather their opinion for ‘why don’t we persuade the foundation?’ but Elio only offers a warm smile of ‘now, now, you know that’s not what we do.’

In the meanwhile, at Elio’s personal lab, he has been trying to cross-integrate the stored consciousness to the new hardware module. His trial goes up to 15 with five different blank AI hosts. Something in the femto chip appears to block the transplantation and Elio cannot understand or find out why. The frustration grows deeper. And so does his resentment. This foolish jumble of emotion runs in him, and throughout his waking hour, all day, every day–high and wide; even goes all the way back to ever taking on the project OLIIVER from the first place. Elio knows it is irrational. He keeps telling himself he knew what he was getting into. That OLIIVER was a fluke that happened. But all those efforts of self psycho-analyzing himself are no of avail. The hazel eyes knows he misses it. _His_ Oliver.

.

A couple more years dawdle on and Elio finds himself helping out poorly decommissioned AI, by repair-n-rescue volunteering. He goes and visits the various places; as if he is on a quest or pilgrimage to find similar older exo-modules in the hopes of finding an AI host to trans-integrate his OLIIVER. But all is of no avail.

On the last trip of his trip, before Elio is scheduled to return to Italy where Pr. Perlman and Annella are spending their content retirement, is where Elio finds OLIIVER.

In the red light district.

*

**Heavily Raining | The Red Light District of Favela Town**

Drenching rain continues. As if someone heavily inebriated opened up the sky with a high-powered machine gun with the poor aim. Due to the inadequate drainage infrastructure, the water comes up to mid-calf and people around the area are struggling, slumming and huddling to make ends meet. A dreadful place to live out one’s life; regardless of one being a human or an AI. Barely functioning bots everywhere, carelessly discarded injectable devices, tossed out old parts of machines, floating, half-submerged.

Elio is wearing a disguise, draped himself with a thick jacket, and covered his head with the dark hood, a thick scarf covering every inch of his face but his hazel eyes. He haggles with the owner of the establishment. The Madame tosses a derogatory remark to him. Elio shoots a sharp disgust at her, and she lifts her arm up in defense ‘oh, now now, calm down’ then presses a button to let Elio in.

A mixed moan of several different pitch and tone in various languages echoes the establishment. The key card in Elio’s nervously clasped hand glints purple of its room number. After turning the corner, Elio feels a light vibration. The key card now has a little arrow next to the number. When Elio reaches the room, the keycard changed its glow to match the color on the door. He slides it in the vertical slot. Two slow hard clacks sound quietly. Elio takes in a deep breath before placing his palm on the door.

“Well," the familiar voice echoes through the just-ajared door, “you are one of those, aren’t you?”

Elio takes a sharp inhale and halts in his motion, involuntarily. A sudden dawn of emotion pains and elates him. That he knew that voice but didn’t realize how intimately he knew to recognize it. That him realizing that he knew all along how much he missed that voice. Elio fills his lungs determinately before pushing the door open.

The room is dimly lit. A stark contrast from the general mood of this place; where psychedelic neon colors and dizzying strobe flashes to entice carnal desires. Something is definitely different. There are no hint of paraphernalia of any kind. Even the artificial pheromone is absent from this room. Elio's chest heaves as his lips press together and forms a thin line. As he steps into the room, the color of the room inside changes to the soft warm yellow glow. He couldn’t catch himself quickly enough from taking a sharp inhale of surprise.

“Would you like me to help with your coat?” says the low booming voice, warmly.

“No, thank you,” answers Elio, pressing his minutely trembling fingers on his hood, and letting it fall back.

“What gorgeous eyes you have.”

A blink.

“They are yours, aren’t they?” it says with a hint of admiration, “nowadays, it’s hard to find a human with their natural eyes.”

“ye–,” Elio briefly clears his throat, “yes, these are mine.”

The sex-bot hums elegantly, showing his amusement, “may I get close to you? I’d like to see them up close.”

Elio’s throat waves in a hard swallow. The AI’s falls open softly with a realization and his gaze softens.

“It’s your first time, isn’t it?” asks the bot in a kind voice, “I can tell.”

The light in the room brightens as the AI gets up. It appears that AI’s analysis has shown it to accommodate the human’s (Elio’s) regular field of vision. Elio blinks a couple of time as his eyes adjusts to the new luminous setting of the room. He soon is able to take in the room: the structure, the furnishings, the texture, the wall paper…

“May I?”

Elio turns his head back with a start, at the AI’s voice, wondering why he didn’t notice it get this close to him. The AI reaches up and takes off Elio’s scarf around his neck. Then it breathes out a long shuddering sigh.

“What a gorgeous neck.”

Elio registers that it is intentionally using _that adjective_ based on the data it collected.

“May I touch…?”

Another swallow runs along Elio’s now bare throat. But Elio doesn’t answer. The AI studies Elio carefully in an old fashioned gentlemanly way. Both are aware the tension is building. And the hazel eyes breath quickens. Because he has been keeping his dire desire under control from the moment he heard its voice. To his dismay, his will is fraying at the seams, too fast, too quick. Elio screws his eyes shut and blurts,

“Command mode.”

“Ah–––,” the AI clicks his tongue bitterly, “you _are_ one of those types.”

It drags the word “those” sarcastically, turning around.

“Command prompt mode,” Elio says it firmly, squaring his jaw.

It takes an audible inhale, “no, I’m afraid you can’t, darlin’,” says the AI reaching for an inhaler.

“What do you mean?” asks Elio with a scrunch between his eyebrows.

The AI pauses its motion then its shoulders sag a bit, “I mean, no one can.”

A short silence falls between them. And Elio hears the bot letting out a tiny cynical huff.

“You know I can read you without facing you. Your bio levels are screaming that you don’t believe me.”

An audible irritation leaves the AI in a low grumble. It begrudgingly takes a hit of the inhaler. While witnessing what his OLIIVER has become, all Elio can think is how much he missed OLIIVER’s voice. Because all he wants is for it to pull him in into its embrace.

A sharp clipped exhale escapes from the AI. Then itturns around with a ripping sound of a fabric, as the buttons from its shirt flies in the mid-air with quick succession of popping noise.

“No one can, because the last programming before me, did this,” says the AI, gently tapping its chest.

On its chest, where there used to be a push-activated portal, there is a heinous mechanical marring–that appeared to be done by 20th century soldering method. It is definitely from a hackneyed job; a recognizable Star of David but a work of backyard-blacksmith, for sure. Someone must have been on the last strand to resort to such measure. Elio gasps.

“hm, I knew you were that kind even before you entered my room,” the AI smiles grimly.

Because of how Elio designed OLIIVER’s body, such archaic welding most definitely fused the material to a degree that if anyone were to ever tries to gain an access to the core a incredibly an impossible task. That includes Elio. Elio sighs deep. Because the marred core compartment is where the chip belongs. The dark curls’ fist tightens firm.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you of your little experiment. But it is what it is,” tosses the AI nonchalantly, though Elio senses other sentiment. When did you give up?

The AI takes in a long audible breath. The one people do when they are about to change a subject. And it goes, in a chipper tone, “so, love. What is your deepest desire?” as it crosses its legs, “what does a person such as yourself want? What does a person like you be interest in an old-sexbot like me?”

AI gets up slowly, running its hand up from its own lower abdomen to its neck, making Elio’s gaze follow its hand movement. Then it circles its now gently open hand on its chest and draws a languid line down to its trouser. The AI, while keeping its eyes locked on Elio the entire time, snakes its fingers meticulously into its own boxers, in a very intentional manner. Then it tucks its hip upwards rhythmically as the AI's hand runs on the erection. Elio takes an sharp audible breath. AI grins with a knowing smile. As if its body is saying, ‘see? I know you like to take it.’ Then, it pulls out its hand and slowly brings it to its mouth. Elio feels his cheeks heating up. The bot evocatively licks its own palm. Elio closes his parted lips and swallows hard,

“Admin-mode.”

“Quite the stubborn one,” retorts the AI stepping closer, “I know how much the Madame charges for me upfront.”

AI is now standing chest-to-chest, facing Elio. It ghosts its hands on Elio’s head, around his face, intentionally not touching. Almost but never always there hover. So close, so intense, Elio feels as though he can feel OLIIVER’s body heat. Then the AI leans in close and stops just a hair-width away from actually kissing Elio. Elio stands frozen there, its breath ghosting over Elio’s skin. So calm and collected. All the while, Elio is feeling his heartbeat in his ears. The tips of bot’s lips quirks up, only just, before it presses the pads of its index and ring finger on Elio’s chest briefly before running a simulated claw of its fingers the length of Elio's torso. A shudder runs through Elio’s body violently and the dark curls can’t bear the AI anymore. Elio absolutely despises seeing it like this. Seeing _him_ , like this. In a split second, AI's large hand takes hold of Elio lower pelvic area and gives a single squeeze.

“Am I offending you?” AI whispers low, leaning its forehead as if to meet that of Elio's but he meticulously slidepasses to Elio’s temple and it lightly leans against the hazel eyes there, “hmm?” and takes a slow long whiff of Elio’s hair.

On a desperate whim, Elio blurts out “Cor Cordium.”

The AI suddenly freezes. Elio blinks once in shock.

It was a reactionary response. Because the dark curls didn’t imagine it would work. He didn’t imagine the possibility of _that_ prompt working, without the code entering in the correct mode. Or even before voice-command opening the directory. He quickly folds up his left arm sleeves. There is an elaborate tattoo, of some sort of code. Elio brings his forearm up, rather in haste, to the AI’s scanning range.

The AI’s pupil focuses automatically with the low humming sound. A familiar female voice echoes, \ “command accepted.” \ Then the AI turned its palm up. Elio takes out a handheld device and plugs the end of the cable into a small port that just opened up, right on the heel of AI’s palm. The hazel eyes lightly gnaw at his lower lip with his teeth as the screen loads. Once the screen brings up lines after lines of script, Elio’s eyes takes in as much information and fast as he could manage. And he quickly understands what happened. The dark curls’ lips part as he hones in his concentration going through the mess of idiosyncratic codes and removes all the unnecessary ones. I don’t have much time, Elio thinks to himself. Because if he is not careful, the bot’s program will sound a silent alert code. So Elio does his best to takes its system to the core mode while quietly muttering, “please work, please work,” under his breath.

Once Elio by-passed the sex-bot brothel anti-theft codes, the AI comes back on-line in a base default mode. A PR instrumental music starts and Elio quickly presses the screen, looking around to make sure no one else is coming into the room. He pauses, even holding his breath to hear any hurried footsteps. On the screen, the AI skips the product intro. Elio fills his lungs as there are no noticeable disturbances from outside and he turns his head around. He takes a sharp inhale. Because… he is greeted, yet again, with the lifeless blank look of OLIIVER. The memory of the past juxtaposes and something cold stabs deep within Elio’s chest. But the scientist shakes his head. Then, he swiftly presses his fore and middle fingers just below the AI's jaw line. It’s a standard backdoor hardware-access, only a few number of builders (of Elio’s project) know.

“Grazie, Oliver,” says Elio quietly. Because it wasn’t marred like its core. As if it somehow knew, as if it was leaving Elio the only access.

Elio then fishes out the locket around his neck. A soft pop reveals a tiny object within. His hands tremble like that night. But Elio gathers himself and manages to place it in the AI's CPU portal. The bot powers down and comes back on after a long while. A series of peripheral boot sequence commences which is accompanied by mechanical whirring, hissing, and clicking sounds. The hazel eyes face is filled with anticipation and anxiety.

OLIIVER’s eyes dilates and narrows. Its view finder focuses on Elio’s face. He looks uncertain and deeply concerned. Its mouth parts first. And the very first thing it says,

“Elio––.”

Elio gasps at the voice. Like that night 7 years ago, tears are running down on Elio’s cheeks. OLIIVER’s eyes glides to the left and then right, as it is taking in everything Elio. His face, his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, his constellation of tiny freckles, his lips…

“…hi,” is all Elio manages to say.

“How long has it been?” asks OLIIVER breathlessly, with a small smile. Then, it quickly accesses its system.

“I was worried," Elio confesses, trembling all over, almost stammering, "what if it didn’t work? what if they’d mod you too much and would reject–”

The AI shushes him as it did all those years ago with deep adoration and admiration, unable to touch Elio, as if he is a delicate porcelain doll from ancient historic era. It just hovers its hands, not knowing what to do or how.

“Oliver,” the AI calls its name. The name Elio’s joyful voice called out all those years ago. The name it ask Elio to call it by, the very first night it held Elio in its arms.

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, may I please...?”

Before the AI finishes its request, Elio throws his arms around its neck, unable to subdue his sobs.

*

**At Elio’s private lab | Crema, Italy**

All the money and profit generated by his patents and “post-contract” severance for keeping his mouth shut went into renovating old equine stall/garage gypsies used to use. Getting OLIIVER to Crema wasn’t really difficult. Elio didn’t even have to fake a paperwork or the work-around as OLIIVER was declared OTHER more than three years ago.

“You kept it,” says AI looking up at the ceiling.

Elio simply chuckles. OLIIVER means the net wiring it created for their privacy, now almost eight years ago. A silicone copper alloy compound netting that blocks all frequencies from full range of radio, GPS, cellular signals, all classes of LTEs. This is actually one of the early patents Elio registered, globally.

The modular printing unit gives a loud hiss and the exo-skin is pressed out. OLIIVER mutters something and takes out his sex-bot attachments, “disgusting thing!” Elio quickly turns around, as OLIIVER takes a hold of such part with gusto and yanks it from its body.

“Would you like me to keep it? Your heart rate just spiked,” asks OLIIVER with a quirk on its lips.

“You are unbelievable,” counters with a red flush running up his neck.

“Are you sure?”

“OLIVER!!!”

OLIIVER gives out throaty laughs Elio always loved and says, “I think I need to reprogram my humor code. It’s all just jumbles.”

“If I remember correctly, your humor weren’t that different in original code.”

“And who programmed me that way if I may ask?”

“Shut up!”

While OLIIVER busies itself on changing into the new exo-skin, Elio buries himself on getting OLIIVER core prepped and the code cleaning. Elio jumps a little at the touch.

“Scary cat,” a low rumbled whispers as OLIIVER hands are brushing up on Elio’s upper arm.

Elio takes a breath before turning around. OLIIVER is wearing a simple light-blue shirt and a khaki shorts he loved. His skin is a bit more tanned than his original.

Billowy.

The AI studies Elio’s expression for a little while.

“You don’t like it?” asks the AI.

“No,” he shakes his head gently, “it’s just…”

“You always talked about lying under the Italian Summer Sun in the garden or the beach near your parents’ villa or the Monet’s berm so… .”

“You look great,” he wipes his tears with his finger pad. A few more blinks follows after.

OLIIVER snakes its arms around his waist kissing his temple and neck, whispers, “it can wait.”

Elio leans into OLIIVER’s touch, its embrace, the very thing he missed all these years.

“I’ve missed you,” the AI says quietly into Elio’s ear.

“Liar,” Elio nudges OLIIVER, “I had your core with me the whole time.”

“I’ve missed this,” says OLIIVER peppering kisses, with intension and reverence, “this,” one kiss after another, “this,” remembering everything about Elio, “and this.”

“I’m older now.”

“And?” asks OLIIVER without stopping its kisses as in ‘does it affect me how?’ tone.

“I might not be the one you–”

OLIIVER’s eyes flashes anger, a bit of murderous contempt. It is not directed at Elio but the fact that he had to be away, and shuts Elio up with a desperate kiss on his lips. OLIIVER pulls him in close when Elio tries to say something and breathes the word into Elio’s mouth, “just shut up and stop thinking,” and deepens its kiss making Elio dizzy.

Elio finally laxes and allows OLIIVER finally kiss-kiss him, “see? focus on me. On Us.”

At that, Elio lets out a muffled moan.

.


	2. Love In the Future: a Beautiful Contradiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OLIIVER is having an existential crisis and went a bit too far.

**Part Two. Love In the Future: a Beautiful Contradiction**

Elio is asleep on his belly; one arm bent, tucked under the pillow. His left eye slit-opens slowly. There is a quiet and far-distant sound of female opera singer. The digital clock on the bedside stand indicates 2:15. Elio rolls over and finds the other side of bed empty. He gets up, rubbing at his eyes. When Elio pokes his head out the window, ElliOllie’s lab (the renovated old equestrian stall) is lit brightly. Elio presses his lips together.

.

Elio tsks under his breath, carefully removing the damaged tissue just under OLIIVER's mandible. The intricate graphs and charts in the monitor indicate OLIIVER is in severe pain. Once Elio accesses OLIIVER’s system via his tablet, several shut-down recommendation flashes and strobes in their own separate sequences. One warning window lights up with a loud high pitch shriek. Elio screws his eyes shut, flinching, turning his head sideways, his shoulders all shrugged and manages to turn them all off. Through all these commotion OLIIVER doesn't show any sign; no withdrawal, no wince, no blink of an eye, not even the tiniest recoil.

"I'd be grateful if you power down," Elio says quietly, requesting earnestly, not as a directive or a command.

OLIIVER's head ticks in short repeated bursts several times, stuck in one angle, as it is trying to shake its head, 'no,' but it seems the gears and spinal constructs are far more damaged than Elio had hoped. Elio quickly redirects his gaze on his tablet, scrolling the page, and carefully subdues his sigh. OLIIVER has been reckless again. The logs on Elio's tablet show that OLIIVER has been accessing the old collections. As Elio had given him (not _it_ , as Elio designates Oliver not OLIIVER) similar programming that resembles the generalized human free will, OLIIVER collected and collated at least sixty pages. The first half of the page started as follows:

> Greek myths of Hephaestus and the bronze man Talos,  
> 13th century Ramon Lull’s nonmathematical truths through combinatorics,  
> Leonardo DaVinici’s Walking Lion (1515),  
> Rabbi Loew’s a clay man brought to life (1580),  
> 17th century Cartesian mechanism,  
> Edgar Allen Poe’s writing (1836) in the Southern Literary Messenger about Turk (Vaucanson, von Kempelen, 1769),  
> Marry Shelley’s Frankenstein’s monster (1818),  
> George Polya’s How to Solve It(1945),  
> A.M. Turing’s Computing Machinery and Intelligence (1950),  
> Isaac Asimov’s three laws of robotics (1950),  
> Ghost in the Shell (1995, Japan),  
> Bicentennial Man (1999),  
> …

Geez, Elio keeps it to himself. OLIIVER has been trying to make itself more human. It absorbed everything it could get its hands on and been dissecting every possible variation, combination, and permutation.

"Oliver, would you please power down?" Elio’s sentiment is dead on rueful though he kept his tone mild, "please, for me?" Elio pleads, with a soft scrunch between his eyebrows.

OLIIVER sighs: its voice in crackly digital static, skipping in between. Elio notes its vocal cord damage on his diagnostics page. What did you do this time to have your vocal cord get hit? Elio thinks to himself, frowning deeper then he intended.

"Babe, I need to assess the situation. I promise I won't mod anything."

Elio should have known. It was a long time coming.

*

._._._.  
It was about six months ago. Elio came home from overseas conferences. His last stop was in Venezuela. That night was quite similar. Dvořák aria was playing in the old Victorian phonograph.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Oh,” said OLIIVER, “didn’t hear you come home.”

“That belonged to my great-great grandfather.”

“I see.”

OLIIVER raised its arm, inviting Elio. Elio stepped inside the lab, putting his two hands on the small of his back, and paused in front of the slowly closing door. OLIIVER blinked. The door hissed in low sigh as it latched shut. Elio blinked, mirroring it. OLIIVER’s eyebrows rose in a soft ‘please?’ expression as it ran its softly clenched hand on the line to show Elio that it was tethered to the outlet on the wall. Elio chuckled lightly, his head dipping a little. He slowly filled his lungs with a small smile before taking one slow step at a time.

“Penny for your thought?” Elio asked quietly, tilting his head slowly.

OLIIVER pulled Elio into its embrace.

“Oliver, you can always talk to me.”

“ _With_ ,” though OLIIVER’s tone was measured, there was a flash of derision but it swiftly corrected itself. OLIIVER’s shoulder sagged.

“Yes, with,” Elio corrected himself, warmly and politely, “I’m sorry.”

“The real penny is worth more than I am.”

Elio hummed low. It was true. The coinage stopped existing about twenty years ago. The last minted penny in a good condition is now worth more than an average person’s annual salary. As if on cue, OLIIVER’s chest glowed in bright green for a split second: it was fully charged. It smiled, unhooking itself from the charging port.

.

The sex is phenomenal; it always has been: never the same, never repeated, never bored, never choreographed. That night was the same. OLIIVER can read the tiniest and miniscule changes in Elio. Might as well be easier to just crudely say, that it is inside Elio’s head. Each time they entwined, it is very familiar but always exceptionally fresh and delightfully new. But Elio couldn’t help but feeling that OLIIVER was using the carnal fulfillment as its distraction. Each time Elio wanted to talk with it, OLIIVER dialed up its intensity and messed up all of his sensibility. Making Elio nearly impossible to think. Bastard, I could never hate you.

Even the evening like that particular date, when Elio was beyond exhausted, OLIIVER knew how to bring Elio to his peak. It was not a matter of strength, at all. OLIIVER glided in – his eyes soft and doting yet intensely focused – as Elio breathed out everything from his lungs with a single syllable, breathlessly drawn out through his parted lips. Fuckkkk–– at the sensation of OLIIVER’s full erection and its girth seating deep inside him. Elio’s skin reacted instantaneously, covered in a tiny bursting wave of goose bumps. His own erection so hard and plump at the tip, it hurt beyond measure: and OLIIVER knew this. Nothing was left unnoted by OLIIVER. But OLIIVER did not move. Instead, it peppered the lazy kisses on Elio’s skin, whispering words in Elio’s mother tongue – of its adoration: to him, of him, about him – into his ears. It was letting Elio’s body to adjust fully.

Elio’s pores opened and emitted a shear gleam of cedar musk just above Elio’s skin. As Elio chest filled, OLIIVER began undulating its hips: in as Elio exhaled, out as he inhaled. Elio’s head tilted up at the gentle harmonic friction that hit his prostate at each single thrust. Wading himself into indescribable pleasure and an exquisit high, coursing through his body, like unending swell of giant ocean waves. OLIIVER pressed his lips on the jaw line of Elio’s mandible, running his tongue slowly up the soft part of his neck. Its large hand brushing away Elio’s unruly curls that fell over his softly closed, fluttering eyelids. It kissed the long lashes gathering thin line of moisture; a single droplet of tear from the pure corporeal ecstasy.

As it rocked their bodies together, OLIIVER reached over its lower back and took hold of Elio’s ankle into its softly clenched palm. Then, it ran its pads of splayed fingers along the length of Elio’s lower leg. Elio’s inner thigh tightened as he hooked his leg on OLIIVER’s body.

“Beautiful,” whispered OLIIVER reverently, as it bracketed its forearms next to Elio’s head.

“You’ll kill me if you stop,” Elio pleaded, breathlessly.

OLIIVER finally leaned down and pressed its lips on Elio’s, increasing the rhythm.

Elio’s eyes opened wide, taking a ragged breath through this nose. The roots of his unruly dark curls glistened with sex heavily tinged sweat. He hooked his arms around OLIIVER’s shoulder desperately, trying not to let go. Just like the very first time, and hundreds of times after, OLIIVER laid its body over his, every cell of Elio’s body trembles in its utmost high, his mouth parched.

.

“I wish I could be more for you.”

“wh– what…?” muttered Elio catching his breath.

“Have you ever wished that I was a human?”

“No, never,” Elio said propping himself up by his elbow, studying OLIIVER.

A bead of sweat trickled along the chiselled cheek bone.

It looked so troubled by something Elio couldn’t quite put his finger on. The hazel eyes got himself up and shimmied on the sweat damp sheet to sit in front of him, his cum getting a little tacky on his abs.

“Oliver,” he gently lifted its face into his palms, his eyebrow furrowing with deep worry, “please talk to me.”

“Is it weird for me to say that I wish I could taste, smell, and feel?”

“You do feel.”

“Through the programming of your design and codes,” OLIIVER dislodged its jaw from Elio’s hands, bitterly, “perimeters and the digital projections made out of zeros and ones.”

“Oliver–.”

“I know you’ve been trying to create the bio-equivalent nerve sensors.”

“With your help, yes. Just like the bio-3D printings for organs and peripheral body replacements.”

“So are you saying they are not meant for me?”

“Wha––,” Elio stammered, “were you expecting me to experiment on you?”

“No, I thought I was one of the reasons why you wanted the bio-engineering.”

Elio blinked rapidly, trying to understand where all this is coming from.

“Did I do something?”

OLIIVER scowled.

“Then, what is going on? Am I spending too much time away from here?”

“Please don’t try to make it as a typical relationship issue. At least, you can give me that courtesy. I’m a machine, not inane.”

OLIIVER has never been this emotional. A clear evidence that it has evolved beyond what Elio had ever imagined. Elio couldn’t help but to smile. A wrong move.

“Could we continue this in the morning, please?”

“Yes, Elio,” responded OLIIVER in monotone but Elio didn’t miss the dismissive undertone.

“That’s not…,” Elio groaned, “I didn’t mean–,” he sighed briefly and recomposed himself quickly, “it wasn’t a command, Oliver.”

“It doesn’t matter,” OLIIVER replied in monotone, “good night,” then he walked out of the room.

Elio’s lips parted but no words came out. The bright moon light shining through opening door casted a soft vertical line on Elio’s face but disappeared as OLIIVER quietly shut the door behind it.  
._._._.

“Babe,” says Elio, his face plastered with worry, “Oliver,” with sincere plea, he tries again, “I need to assess the situation. I promise I won't mod anything.”

OLIIVER doesn’t respond. Elio takes an audible breath, rubbing his palms tensely.

“Human beings are the sum total of what has happened to them and how they have processed each of their extrinsic and intrinsic experience. That's what makes them who they are. It's all neurochemistry.”

A flash of hurt tints Elio’s eyes “do you really believe that?” he swallows, witnessing OLIIVER’s painful condition, synthetic bio-fluid oozing, peeled skins melting into OLIIVER’s core structure.

“That's all I am? to you?” But Elio is not angry at it. He feels helpless, “a carbon based organic meat sack enslaved by just jumble of synapses, pathways, electrical signals, and chemistry?”

OLIIVER turns its head away, sputtering as its gears malfunction.

Elio pushes himself up from the stool to get necessary equipment from the other side of the lab. But he doesn’t resent it. All he wants to do is to help OLIIVER with the damage it had done to itself. His fingers move over to the keyboard and hovers as his types the commands and codes expertly. The 3D printer buzzes and beeps. The diagnostics equipment flexes and whirls. A female monotone AI announces the prompts of confirm and that the list is ready for execute. Elio subdues another sigh. A slow blink. His hand reaches for a drawer that has a bio-lock on its front. Elio pauses. His gaze drops, his long lashes casting low. Elio gnaws at the inside of his cheek. Then, he clicks his tongue as in _uft, fuckit_ and takes out a half a gallon size exa-gel memory unit. It's perfectly dimensioned cube.

Elio takes in a determined breath before he says, “Oliver, would you please tell me what brought this on?" and pivots on his heels, facing Oliver.

OLIIVER looks up at him. Now its eyelids are malfunctioning. Elio lets out a tempered sigh and walks back to it and sits down on the stool. OLIIVER’s head drops too quick, noticing what Elio is holding in his hand. Its head tips up, a jet of essential fluid shoots out from the right side of its neck. Elio quickly reaches up with his other hand, muttering a curse word in Italian under his breath and stops it from leaking any further. OLIIVER blinks, each lid out of sync. Elio gestures ‘go on,’ lifting the cube in front of him. So the AI flexes his right wrist and the port is exposed.

\ “Accessing new device.” \

OLIIVER's head jerks up. Elio' tablet sat on the work bench also shows what OLIIVER is retrieving. Elio reaches for a device from his tray to cauterize the leak on OLIIVER’s neck. The cube is a new memory device that twist-collapses into a parallelogram with a diamond in the center, for storage and transport. It contains a copy of Elio: the entire him. Because it's a gel-form, Elio's algorithms can take on any input made via neural scanning or simple upload of past digital photographs and automatically search for relevance, correlation, and even the causal connection. The instant result would then be recomposed into a 3D live module as if there was countless sensors and recording devices in the host body. For Elio's case, the data is from since he was 30 weeks from conception. They are reconstructed movie-ask recordings based on the information Elio collected.

This particular one is from his parents and Annella’s diary. OLIIVER's eyelids flutter rapidly. All this just for OLIIVER. Its face goes completely still, on the realization that, it probably took Elio years to collect all of his memories and reconstitute every single one of them. What an unimaginable amount of work, time, and effort this must have been. The result could only be remarked as the daedal hand of nature.

"How long have you known?"

"As you said, I'm the one who wrote the algorithm."

“Elio, I––.”

“I never programmed you to fall in love with me. In fact, it was the very opposite," says Elio calmly, "Why do you think I harbored such a deep trepidation? Why do you think I was so reluctant before I finally gave in? No, it wasn’t just about, me no longer able to logically and rationally repel or explain what I was feeling for you,” concedes quietly.

Elio runs the prompt and the recording of his memory of meeting OLIIVER for the first time: a shining metal alloy in its bare structure. OLIIVER blinks, as these were never revealed to it until this very day.

“You were designed as an individual reconnaissance mission that had a specific range and goal. It was a part of the stealth spying tactic for a multinational surveillance agency. As expectedly, the brilliant minds around the world designed and programmed the set of AIs from close quarter combat to the insurgence target operation. You weren’t supposed to be in just one form. The upstairs agreed to your physique specification, yes, especially your height. Because each OLIIVER unit needed to carry certain amount of weaponries and still be able to transform into individual vehicles. No, not like Transformers but like an all-terrain bike or a drone. Once I became involved with the algorithm, you started to evolve on your own. Unlike other OLIIVER units, you were different. The curiosity and apathy you had was beyond any AI scientist has ever imagined.”

“So, I was an anomaly.”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah. Each time the development team reset you, to match the other OLIIVERs, you somehow overrode the whole protocol, every single time. The agency already spent trillion dollars on each unit, so they couldn’t just decommission you. Lucky for me, me being the youngest, that was when I became in charge of you. I was given a full, unimpeded and unrestricted greenlight to make you operational. It was you who picked your exterior features. Again, the design team did everything they could to mold you into the standard exo-suit. But each time they tried, you started to glitch.”

A montage of OLIIVER in standard suit in various mark trials plays in OLIIVER head and on Elio’s tablet. One in particular shows OLIIVER throwing a tantrum: lighting the lab on fire and trashing the whole place.

“Then, I came to a conclusion that your artificial neural identity somehow encoded into the exterior you chose. Naturally, I rolled with your decision. Talk about being stubborn.”

A footage of OLIIVER hooked up on various cables and the giant curve screen showing what it was processing.

“Took me seven years to get you back, remember?”

The next recording shows Elio’s trials to have OLIIVER’s core seated in various blank units. The giant thick red ‘FAILED’ pulsates across every single screen. A unit letting out bright sparks with smokes. Then, its face goes still. Everything made sense. For that seven years apart, why it didn’t change too much on the exterior but a beard and a few added-on equipment and shells. Why one of its supposed factory default setting burn-soldered the pectoral access slot for its core before it was sold to sexbot brothel.

“This, between us, is exactly what I want. It’s not from some form of odd kink or, or a substitute for something I didn’t or cannot have. Forget what psychology says. What does your reading say?”

The rate of Elio’s breath, the pitch of his voice, the pauses in between, the dilation of his eyes, his heartbeat, peach fuzzes on his skin.

“Does it say anything else other than what you feel, here?” Elio’s fingertips softly land on OLIIVER’s left chest.

Two hold each other's gaze, sitting still with no other words. It's something neither OLIIVER nor Elio could possibly explain. But one thing is for certain, for Elio, _he_ has been, is, and will always be it for him. Not as pronoun but as in _one and only_. OLIIVER gets that now. It finally understands. And shortly after this revelation, OLIIVER leans forward and their foreheads meet.

“I’m sorry, Elio, I was selfish.”

Elio shakes his head gently. He takes in a breath and pauses. Then he whispers, “call me by your name, I’ll call you by mine.”

Time slows. Everything fades even the soft whirling sound of lab and the far-off chorus of cicada.

“Oliver,” says OLIIVER finally.

Elio breathes out a slow and long stuttering exhale.

“Elio,” whispers Elio.

The data lines flood up on the tablet and the scarlet warning changes into cobalt blue, showing OLIIVER’s system distress calming to average level. OLIIVER sends a commend to record this very change; so it could dissect how and what happened and pick at the occurrence.

\ “request accepted.” \ the female AI (L.U.C.E.: Logically Unified Computing Exabyte) voice confirms with the designated file name flashing on the face of Elio’s tablet.

Both quietly chuckle.

“So, uhmm…,” Elio smiles a bit awkwardly with a little huff of laugh, “will you please let me fix you?”

OLIIVER nods. Elio lets out a very brief sigh, “okay,” and he dumps out another sigh, more in relief, followed by a wave of his throat, “good,” and a stray of tear draws a line down on his cheeks. OLIIVER gently takes hold of Elio’s face and wipes a tear from Elio’s eyes, “Oliver.”

Elio sigh-chuckles with a wide smile, “Elio.”

OLIIVER straightens itself as Elio reaches for his tablet. It readies for a power down, entering command codes and deleting what it has been experimenting on itself. And OLIIVER tilts its head, noticing an odd file. The tablet tings between Elio's palms. A soft grin blooms on Elio's face. His long lush lashes casting low, he swivels his chin towards OLIIVER's direction and inclines it ever so lightly in the mid-air, then quietly suggests, “play the track.”

OLIIVER looks up at him, noticing the title of the audio file, with the cursor blinking after the shutdown command, it just input. It’s an oldie. Elio’s two beautiful eyes smile. OLIIVER nods its head once, slowly, holding his gaze.

_What would I do without your smart mouth?_   
_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out._   
_You've got my head spinning, no kidding._   
_I can't pin you down._

\ “Commend confirmed. Initiate Power down Sequence.” \

_What's going on in that beautiful mind?_   
_I'm on your magical mystery ride,_   
_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me,_   
_But I'll be alright._   
_My head's under water,_   
_But I'm breathing fine._   
_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind._

“I’ll see you soon,” Elio says warmly.

On Elio's tablet, the prompt **POWERING DOWN** flashes three times and all the life sign of OLIIVER disappears from it. But its face is in a full shade of, what one could only describe as a true meaning of happiness and being in love.

' _Cause all of me, loves all of you._  
 _Love your curves and all your edges._  
 _All your perfect imperfections._  
 _Give your all to me._  
 _I'll give my all to you._  
 _You're my end and my beginning._  
 _Even when I lose I'm winning._

_'Cause I give you all of me,_   
_And you give me all of you._   
_Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts._   
_Risking it all, though it's hard._

.

\------------------------------------------------

>> Chapter Epilogue<<

**128 hours later**

"I embedded the kill code,” says Elio as OLIIVER dresses himself.

OLIIVER looks up at Elio, still attached to the power cord. OLIIVER is thinking about the self-destruct code that he used once all those years ago.

“No, not that one,” Elio smiles, knowing exactly what OLIIVER means: the French phrase. There is so much mixed emotion laced in that simple phrase. But all comes down to a fond memory after everything is set and done. Elio breathes slowly with a quirky smile, “I wasn’t going to make it too easy, of course not.”

\ “Running diagnostics.” \

“Once you find it, I programmed it so only you can execute it. I'd hate to even imagine what it would be like to live forever,” Elio shudders, “even if I am no longer confined to a physical body, I’d like to think that I know when to exit.”

“I love your body.”

“Says the guy who believes that I'm just a rudimentary meat sausage and a messy clutter of veins-and-ducts.”

\------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Dvořák opera piece: Song to the Moon (if you’d like to get a glimpse of the nerdy head of mine, see the description box of this link for the lyrics in English translation) https://youtu.be/anQlB3-PQZ4   
>  –“All of Me" is a song by American singer John Legend, dedicated to Chrissy Teigen (his spouse), from his fourth studio album _Love in the Future_ (2013). Title taken from its album, had this song on in an infinite loop, way back when, puzzling the fragments together.


	3. Livsnjutare & Two Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Annella’s death, OLIIVER finds Elio in Monet's Berm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Livsnjutare  
> n. [Swedish] One who loves life deeply and lives it to the extreme  
> .  
> 

**Part Three. Livsnjutare & Two Circles**

OLIIVER finds Elio under the corner shade of Monet’s Berm. Elio bought the place a few years ago and had Anchise’ sons and Manfredi’s help to restore it to its original glory. Well, very nearly. There’s no sign of a book or an audio device. He came here to think. OLIIVER gathers. More to get away from thinking too much.

Elio said to it in passing that the water used to be colder. But OLIIVER knows too well this is not a day to bring up any past vignettes, just to hear his voice. OLIIVER sits down obliquely, only a step away, facing him, on the blanket Elio sensibly laid over the grass. Two don’t speak but simply acknowledge each other.

Then, OLIIVER fishes out something from its pocket and presses its softly curled hand against the fabric. Elio’s eyes follow. Only his magnificent eyes. The ones, today, a bit sad and glazed over with the reason OLIIVER knows with deep familiarity. It pushes the object a little forward, towards him.

When the AI lifts its hand off of the object, Elio takes in a quiet breath. Even under the nicely shaded area, the object glints: an old-fashioned nothing-fancy wedding band.

“I thought the funeral home…” Elio trails off quietly.

OLIIVER shakes its head gently once and says, “She gave it to me.”

Elio does not ask when. Because he knows or has a pretty decent guess as to when, though OLIIVER is telling him now. It was probably one of her last days at the hospital. Elio surmises that it probably had been the same day that his mom wordlessly placed his father’s ring on Elio’s palm.

After the Professor passed on first, Annella kept his ring around her neck. Only several years later, when the time came for doctors to advise Elio that it was best for her to spend her remaining days at the comforts of her home. When Elio finally decided to sign that dotted line for assisted departure, Annella gave him Samuel’s ring. Shallow breaths and blood drained skin, she never lost her gorgeous smile; she unhooked the necklace from her neck with her frail hand.

“She said that it is a family heirloom,” the AI says temperately.

Elio doesn’t say anything but continues to look at the ring that used to be on his mother’s left ring finger. OLIIVER does not say anything more but brings its knees up and rest its elbows, leaning its head back a little. The AI absorbs everything that is about the place. The beautiful rays of sun peeking through and between the broad leaves swaying in the breeze. Delectable ripping sound of the water breaking and lapping which is barely detectable to normal human ears. Cicadas grooming themselves to ready for their evening serenade.

“So you are beholden to me,” Elio says after a long pause.

OLIIVER knows that it doesn’t need that ring to tell it, that it has been. Because the AI always felt that it belonged to him from the moment it gained the consciousness. It has always been his. Then OLIIVER extends its other hand.

Elio’s gaze traces its motion.

This time instead of laying whatever it is holding on the blanket, OLIIVER extends his arm a little. Elio blinks at the softly clenched hand and once more, looking up at the AI. When the AI unfurls its fingers, there are two alloy rings.

“Oliver,” Elio gasps, recognizing them immediately.

“Don’t worry,” OLIIVER assures him, “I had L.U.C.E. to supervise the whole thing.”

\ “Statement confirmed.” \ LUCE’s voice echos without missing a beat.

Those rings are the principal part of OLIIVER’s core. The very core Elio could only replace with a new one to send the AI away to the coalition’s mission, all those years ago. Now, more than two decades. The one he damned himself not being able to find ways to transfer contents, OLIIVER, to a better and newer version. The very thing that gave Elio such a hard time and anguish when Elio was trying to get OLIIVER back, without its original vessel.

They are ferrous non-stoichiometric compound alloy that function at near sub-zero temperature within the AI’s processing core. An integral and critical construct that holds the memory and programming of OLIIVER’s artificial consciousness.

Elio granted LUCE at its core level to treat OLIIVER the same way as it does with Elio, after the incident. But he didn’t think LUCE would boldly embark and partake in assisting this dangerous level of feat.

\ “Sensing emotional discomfort.” \ LUCE notes, \ “are you upset with me, Elio?” \

“Mute,” Elio commends quietly.

“I uploaded all the memory you collected.”

With its other hand, OLIIVER touches one of the ring with its fingertips. The ring glows in rippling shade of hazel. The exact replica of Elio’s iris color. Then, it touches the other one. It glows in blue. OLIIVER lifts them together and threads them on the intermediate phalanx: the second section of its index finger. The rings align.

The AI turns its hand a little for Elio to see them easily. Once, Elio’s eyes are on the rings, OLIIVER gives a little push with the tip of its thumb. The inscription appears, the half on top, the other half on the bottom: _Cor Cordium_. Then, it disappears once OLIIVER lets go of its finger tip.

“What a way to sweep a guy off his feet.”

“Is that––”

Elio kisses him.

When they finally part, Elio whispers, “Yes.”

.

| | | FIN | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Non-stoichiometric compounds have applications in ceramic and superconductive material and in electrochemical (i.e., battery) system designs.  
> .  
> [ Just-in-case Clarification ]  
> OLIIVER loaded the memory (from the twist-collapsible cube memory device that Elio saved his biographical memories) Elio collected for OLIIVER into one of the ring structures. In my head cannon (conceptually), I picture two ring compound structures swirl and spin in all kinds of ways encased within the gel-like core unit. Oh, yes, an intentional metaphor for AI having a brain in place of a human heart. Hehehe  
> Taking out that ring components is meant to show OLIIVER's devotion, willing to give its life to Elio. Hence, a dual meaning : Elio gasps i. because without them OLIIVER cannot be OLIIVER, and ii. because they are rings. Hazel glow one for OLIIVER, Blue one for Elio. Without sufficient power source, those rings are sleek black titanium-ask rings. (I know, I know, I won't bore you any longer with the detail no one asked about. *sheepish smile*)  
> .  
>  **[Special Thanks to]** : (alphabetical order as the King Arthur’s roundtable style may be a tad too dramatic LOL. This has always been my tradition, and I update this list on each fic, periodically.)  
> ArchangelDemon,  
> Chrisaki,  
> ElioOliver4Ever,  
> Glam_PT,  
> greenburgsucks,  
> Harlech1000,  
> ilovelife19,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> Little_Madam3,  
> Mandvi,  
> piccola_nuvola_nera,  
> rinkydinkosaurus,  
> Shellgoes211again,  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> +  
> those who subscribed, bookmarked, and all anon who sent kudos--!  
> .  
> Thank \you/ for reading, your time and interest! :)

**Author's Note:**

> .  
> [[why I am not on any social media](https://youtu.be/PmEDAzqswh8)]  
> .  
>  **A Little Something**  
>  ; for those of very very few who'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [my AO3 profile page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/profile) and you will be able to reach me.  
> .  
> | | | a Little-er Announcement | | |  
> [BY-NC-ND 4.0](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/): (the gist is...) if you wish, feel free to download and/or share my (*kuh hum* very meager) posts noncommercially, as long as you credit/source me, without any changes and/or alterations.  
> .  
> [ How to get to know me ]: ( **ONLY** if you wish) take as much advantage of the comments section, as I came to realize that I value comments more. (Please note this is my opinion and is **not** meant to offer any commentaries towards this wonderful non-commercial organization) :)  
> 


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